


Marilyn's Body

by casstayinmyass



Category: Jennifer's Body (2009), Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Jennifer's Body Fusion, Anal Sex, Antichrist Superstar, Bars and Pubs, Blood As Lube, Boys Kissing, Cocaine, Demonic Possession, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Horror, I Don't Know Shit About NIN So Sorry If They're OOC, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Crush, The Boys Taste Like Boys, The Implication That Manson Was Possessed Before AS, The Necronomicon, Trent Is Super Satanic, Twiggy POV, spooky kids era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: When Brian is sucked into a touring band's occult ways, Jeordie needs to unravel how to save him before he becomes something much darker... and before he unravels himself.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Twiggy Ramirez
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Marilyn's Body

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the movie 'Jennifer's Body'! Also set during Spooky Kids era.

The senior class sat in science, as the teacher droned on about test tubes and wafting chemicals.

"Hey," Stephen grinned to John at the back of the classroom, "Wanna waft chemicals with me after class?" He broke out into obnoxious laughter, which brought the class to a halt. Through half-lidded eyes, Jeordie watched the teacher pause, glaring back at their friend. He was just starting to drift off again when his best friend woke him up.

"Hey, look at this," Brian nudged him.

"Mm," Jeordie muttered, wiping the drool off his chin. Brian slid him a printed flyer he must've pulled from a bulletin board. "Nine Inch Nails, November 28," Jeordie yawned, reading the headline. "Awesome. Who are they?"

"I don't know, but look at the frontman," Brian tapped the clipping incessantly with a black painted fingernail, "I'd be down to fuck that."

Jeordie groaned into his fists, collapsing face first on the desk. Brian had slept with pretty much every hot, high profile student they went to school with: Missy, a cute goth Brian had had a short fling with. Johnny, the exchange student from France who wasn't even French but just kinda felt European, you know? Rose, a gorgeous theatre kid in sophomore year. Even Dita, Queen of Darkness and all things out-of-your-league, had fucked around with Brian a few times. A rumor had been floating around that he had given Freddie the Wheel a reach around in the bathroom last Halloween, but Brian and his squad had adamantly denied that one. He had some standards.

God. All Brian ever thought about was sex. Jeordie was the same... if only they both thought about sex with the same person, then all of Jeordie's high school problems would be solved.

It pays to be tall, charming, and confident, all things Jeordie wasn't.

"Hello? Earth to Space Ghost!" Brian snapped in front of his face. "We're going."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." Jeordie blinked, suddenly irritated by the sun shining into the classroom. Brian saw him grimace at the light, and dutifully leaned forward, long curtain of hair successfully blocking the sunlight for him.

"I mean, who knows?" Brian whispered, "He may not just be another pretty face. He may be able to get the Spooky Kids somewhere, if I get on his good side."

Jeordie nodded. Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids was the after school band the four of them in their friend group and a cool college kid named Kenny had created for fun. Brian was the only one who took it seriously, along with maybe John, convinced they would make it as big rock stars one day, and Jeordie was always wary of his ambition. Maybe his friend was onto something, though. Better than becoming an accountant.

"Bier! Detention!" The science teacher barked at Stephen, drawing the two of them back to reality. The bald kid with the beanie that read 'twat' moaned.

"Aw, dude! We got band practice after school!"

"Well, tonight you'll be doing just what that band of yours will be in ten years. Absolutely nothing."

Brian growled, chewing at his lip ring as he does when he's angry. Jeordie watched, trying not to get hard from seeing Brian so mad. He just looked good mad, okay?! He waited for any reaction (it was 99% likely he would get the rest of them roped into detention too, and maybe then they wouldn't have to go to this concert) but his friend held back. Damn. He must really want to go to this show tonight.

So, lacking one keyboard player (and a guitar player, since John was too nice to leave Pogo to serve detention alone), Brian made the executive decision that band practice was off that day. Instead, he took Jeordie home with him, so that they could prepare for the concert later. It was at a small dive bar just outside of town, and though Jeordie would much rather sit at home with some weed and Star Wars: A New Hope, he was looking forward to spending the night with Brian.

"Look at you, ya dumb shit," Brian smirked, licking his thumb and wiping some lipstick off Jeordie's chin. "Here, your artistry is crap tonight, I think you need another one of these." He passed Jeordie the plate that they had fired Mrs. Warner's meatloaf off of to replace with her diet pills. They had discovered a few months back that mixing three of them with beer made for a great high, and they felt like real rock stars when they did it.

Jeordie popped the pills, swishing them around with the light American beer Kenny had bought for them after yesterday's jam session. Swallowing them, he watched his vision get fat, and enjoyed the sight of Brian leaning in even more. Mmm. He was really close. The taller boy moved in, thin eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on getting Jeordie's plum-coloured lipstick in the lines. Jeordie began to laugh, and the lipstick slid down the corner of his mouth, skewing the colour down the side.

"Fuck, asshole, stay sti--" Brian titled his head. "Actually, that looks pretty dope."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Anything'd look fine, though." His hand hadn't left Jeordie's cheek. "You've got pretty lips."

"What?" Jeordie coughed. Even through his high, that hit him like a ton of bricks.

"I said you've got pretty lips, you queer," Brian stuck his tongue out, and tackled his friend to the bed. Jeordie's giggles turned into a heavy sigh. He lay there with Brian's long arms wrapped around him, wishing all this was for real. But this was just Brian playing around... that's what it would always be.

Makeup applied and goth platforms buckled up, they made their way to the entryway of the house to go. The taller of the two grabbed a small tape, and shoved it in his skin tight black underwear.

"I'm gonna show the band our demo," he told Jeordie, running his hands through his hair.

"Which one?"

"Lunchbox."

Jeordie hesitated as they were heading out. "I think you should show him Cake and Sodomy, Bri. It's edgier... it might catch their attention more."

Brian looked from Jeordie to the other tape, and switched the two, grabbing Cake and Sodomy. Then they left together, locking the Warner family door.

The band started setting up in the small venue, getting their speakers and mic stands on the make do stage.

"Man, are you sure, Trent?" the guitarist asked, "This place looks pretty dead."

"That's the point," the frontman smirked, and at his band's skeptical glances, he explained. "Towns like these? They always have at least one dark motherfucker who's down to screw. We get them drunk, high, all that shit, take 'em down to the quarry, and say the words."

The drummer seemed uncomfortable. "Isn't that, like... kidnapping?"

"Do you want Nine Inch Nails to succeed?!" Trent snapped, shoulder length brown hair falling in his face, "Or do you wanna play venues like this the rest of your miserable life?" That shut his band up. It was settled, then.

"How do I look?" Brian stopped Jeordie to ask, and he scrunched up his brows, trying to look mean.

"You look badass," Jeordie said, "Me?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't fuck with you."

"Really?"

"Well, I would, but that's because I know you." Brian grabbed Jeordie in a headlock, and the two walked into the bar together. Brian towered over most people in his platform boots, and it just made his skinny legs look that much better. "There they are," he hissed, "Fuck, they're real big shots. That's gonna be us one day, Jeord."

"Yeah," Jeordie replied, already looking around for drinks. Thankfully, this bar was so shitty that nobody ID'd anybody. Perfect for getting smashed. Brian walked over to where the band was setting up.

"Hey. You must be Nine Inch Nails," he said, trying to appear as cool as possible.

"That's us," Trent responded, turning around, "Unless someone else stole our name off the poster." Normally with a response like that, anyone attempting to flirt (see: Jeordie) would have blushed harder than ever in embarrassment and made a fast retreat. Brian was unlike the general population though, and if anything, it only spurred him on.

"Okay, no need to be a dick about it. I just wanted to know if I was talking to the actual talent or the fucking lackeys that put your shit out."

That got the band's attention, and Trent began to take real notice of the overgrown kid standing in front of him. He turned around fully. "No offense intended, man. I'm Trent Reznor. What's your name?"

"B--" He stopped himself. "Marilyn. Marilyn Manson. I'm a rock musician. I've got a band, the Spooky Kids? You may have heard of us."

"Nah," Trent said, then corrected himself. Flattery was the best way to rope people in, and he knew it. "But I'd like to. You've certainly got the look for it. You got any demos on you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Brian reached into his pants, "Right beside my cock." He leaned in, giving Trent a look positively dripping with desire. "Which you can test out after the show too, if you'd like."

Trent began to smirk, returning the look and pocketing the demo. "I might just take you up on that. You here with anyone, Manson?"

Brian felt a surge of pride and accomplishment at being called by his stage name for once. For a second, he could pretend like he really was an international rock star, not a senior high schooler who still lived with his parents. "Uh, yeah, I'm here with someone. My bassist, Twiggy Ramirez. He's--"

"There you are," Jeordie stumbled over, some pink sunglasses on and a half-drained whiskey in his hand. "I thought you already ran off with Mr. Underwear Model over here." He erupted into drunken laughter as Brian stepped on his foot. Jeordie gasped, looking down, and Brian snatched his drink away.

"Do not do this right now," he hissed, "And go give that ugly girl back her fucking sunglasses before I rip them off your face and break them. She needs them more than you do."

"Chickens!"

"Now."

Jeordie saluted Trent, and Brian sighed as his best friend walked off, turning back to NIN. "You know how it is," he shook his head, trying his hardest to sound experienced, "The lifestyle hits some of us harder than others."

"Fuckin A."

"Hell yeah."

"Ain't that the truth, brother," the band echoed, lifting their beer bottles, and Trent clapped Brian on the back.

"Come see us after the show, alright? Bring chicken-boy too, he seems like a good time. We'll, uh... have us a good party." He gave his bandmates a dark look, but Brian didn't notice it. He just nodded casually, trying not to flip out.

"Yeah, sure. Looking forward to your set, Trent."

Jeordie finished the last drop of whiskey over at the bar, moping. His foot hurt from where Brian had stomped on it, and he suddenly wished he hadn't agreed to be here tonight. He should have said he was sick or something... even though he was at school all day.

Brian approached him, and sat down. Jeordie sighed.

"I know, I know. Don't say it. I screwed it all up for you, and I'm sorry."

"No," Brian murmured, stealing Jeordie's refilled whiskey, "Trent kinda dug your whole wacko out-of-it thing. He invited us to their afterparty."

"Afterparty?" Jeordie huffed, "Where are they gonna have that, in their damn van?"

"Don't be an asshole, they probably rented a venue, okay?"

"In Fort Lauderdale? He'd have a better chance of renting Pogo's backyard."

Brian ignored the comment. "Speaking of chances... Trent seemed really interested in our demo."

"Trent. Who has a name like that? It's a douchebag name."

"--And, he seemed interested in..." Brian started slipping his finger through a hole formed with his other hand. "So, if I'm really good tonight, he might remember me, and like... I don't know, recommend us to their label."

"So, you're just whoring yourself out for the band then, huh? This is what you do now?"

"Well, I already whore myself out, Jeordie, why not do it for our fucking career?"

Jeordie huffed again, bitter this time. He needed more alcohol, so he could deal with his friend's bullshit. The band started to warm up, and Brian pulled Jeordie out of his seat before he could order another drink. They got right up front, and Trent winked Brian's way as the heavy rock music started.

Through the night, the lines between reality and delusion blurred for Jeordie. He had never been this drunk, and the problem was, he actually really enjoyed this stupid band's music. It made him want to headbang-- it made him want to play. The worst part of it was, they had a song called 'Fuck You Like An Animal', and Brian's dancing... it was turning on Jeordie was too much. He needed air.

Stepping outside, he looked up at the sky to see the stars whirling in circles. Not a good sign.

"Are you there, God? It's me, Twiggy," he muttered, and collapsed.

Opening his eyes, Jeordie came to. He checked the time, and saw that half an hour had passed. Pushing himself to his feet, he heard Trent inside telling everyone that they rocked, that it was awesome playing here in Jacksonville, (Fort Lauderdale, Mr. Douchebag man, but whatever I guess), and saying goodnight to everyone. He slipped back in, and Brian found him.

"Where were you? You disappeared," Brian said, grabbing his arm. Jeordie yawned.

"I was sleeping it off."

Trent approached the two of them. "Hey, drinks on us, guys." Who was Jeordie to disagree with that?

The group of them headed over to the bar, where a round of beer was bought by Trent.

"So. Spooky Kids, huh?" Trent smirked, lifting a bottle to his lips, "You guys into all that satanic stuff then?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Brian answered, "Satanic Temple, Church of Satan, followers of Lucifer. They're all different. I actually find it very interesting. I met Anton LaVey, he's an interesting guy to talk to."

"You--" Jeordie started to say, but Brian shot him a look.

"Oh yeah?" Trent's eyes narrowed. "You ever thought about stuff like making pacts with demons and shit?"

"Um. Well..."

Trent quickly recovered, sensing the mood shift from chill to suspicious. "Just messing with you. Demons, right? All for the shock value, I totally get it."

Brian cocked his head. He was trying to get on Trent's good side for the sake of the band, but one thing he wasn't was a kiss ass. "I guess. But there are some things that just shouldn't be messed with. Dark energy, all that. It's not cool. I should know... I had a friend once make me read from the Necronomicon."

Jeordie looked up. Now that was true-- he remembered that story. Some guy named John (not their John Lowrey, another John) used to bully Brian when he started at this school. At a night over at the guy's place, they tried to summon Satan, and apparently, Brian had never looked at the occult the same way again. They sang about the devil and all that shit, but if they used any symbols or invocations or anything, Brian always insisted on protection spells that they probably weren't casting right anyway.

"Yeah," Jeordie echoed, "Bad hoodoo associated with that stuff. Best not to fuck with it." Brian shot him a grateful look for backing him up, and Jeordie bumped his knee against his friend's in solidarity.

Trent exchanged a look with his guitarist. "Hm. Well, fuck it. We've got something better than Satan." His guitarist dug around, and Trent got up. "Come on. To the bathroom."

Jeordie frowned at Brian, and Brian looked confused too, but they followed. The band got into the empty, grafitti'd public washroom, and Trent began cutting up lines of white powder on the counter.

"Oh shit," Jeordie whispered. Brian stood, staring at it. The two friends looked at one another. They'd always wanted to try coke, but they'd never ventured to-- their thing had always been weed or Mrs. Warner's crushed up diet pills, never hard shit like this. It was equal parts scary and exciting.

"Just roll up a dollar bill and go for it," Trent laughed, digging around in his pocket, "Or a hundred. Whatever you got." He smugly positioned the rolled up hundred dollar bill in his nostril, and snorted a white line. He beckoned the two over, and Brian took his turn next, snorting three of the lines. The band all hollered, impressed. Jeordie finally took Brian's rolled up ten, their fingers brushing for one blissful moment, and tried a line.

_Woah._ It felt... shit, it felt good. Different than anything he'd done before. Instantly, he wanted another to achieve the racing need to achieve that feeling of pure ecstasy again. He did a couple more lines, and passed it back to Brian. After the two had basically depleted the band's reservoir of cocaine, they left the bathroom. Jeordie didn't even stop to wonder why Trent had let him and Brian do it all alone.

"Showtime," Trent whispered to his guitarist, and put one hand on each of the boys' shoulders. "Wait til the afterparty. Plenty more blow where that came from."

Most of Jeordie wanted to say yes to that. That coke felt good to sniff, and a whole night of it sounded like heaven. But...

"I think, uh... Manson and me have to be getting home. Or at least, uh... back to the... studio. Or something. Wherever we supposedly live," Jeordie babbled, not able to think straight. The alcohol in his system was conflicting with the coke, the upper and downer battling for dominance over his system.

"Nah, it's cool," Brian said quickly, pupils blown wide from the drugs and darting everywhere, "We don't have anything to do tonight but party."

"No, I really think--"

"Twigs, don't be such a fucking loser," Brian snapped, and Jeordie stopped. What the hell was that?

"What?" Jeordie echoed his thoughts.

"You heard me," Brian spat, glaring at his friend, "All night, you've been trying to bring me down. Well, I don't feel like moping around like a fucking reject all night. I'm gonna go places with or without you."

Caught between bursting into a shouting match and bursting into tears, Jeordie stood there dumbly, each word ringing in his mind like a shot right by his ear.

"I'm..."

"Here," Trent grinned, "A little more for the road." He made sure no bartenders were watching as they slipped into a booth at the back of the dark bar. Jeordie slid in with them, head wobbling around like his neck was a spring.

"Bri..." he mumbled, frustrated that he couldn't raise his voice as much as he wanted to. Where was he again? Why wasn't Brian listening to him?! Fading in and out, he watched Brian forego the rolled up money and snort three more lines directly off the table as the rockers laughed and slapped him on the back. His friend's head shot up, and he shook his hair out, clenching and unclenching his fists. They all looked at Jeordie-- it was his turn. He had already been labelled the downer, so there was only one thing to do. He scooted in closer, putting his face down and sniffing whatever was left on the table, their cheers ringing in his ears like they were all a mile away. Jeordie felt bile rise up, then go back down-- his right eye closed, and his left eye soon closed with it.

Another half hour had gone by. It must've been 1 in the morning by then, and the bar still hadn't closed. The only reason Jeordie had awakened was the commotion at the table. They were leaving.

"Coming, chicken-boy?" Trent asked him, snickering. Jeordie blinked, feeling like his eyelids were cracking.

"Where's..." He looked over, and saw Brian being led to the door by the other members of Nine Inch Nails. Jeordie tried to stumble toward him.

"Ah ah ah," Trent held him back, "Don't wanna spoil your friend's fun, do you?"

"Let me..." Jeordie struggled as best he could, but he was still wired and disoriented. "Let me go, doucheface."

"Oooh," Trent laughed, "I could kill you right now, you know, and nobody would know." Jeordie wondered if he really just heard him say that. Brian was draped over the other members as they brought him out to the van, and Trent... Trent had the most sinister smile Jeordie had ever seen. "Wait," Jeordie called, but his voice still sounded small, as if he was calling down a well. "Bri, don't..."

The van door opened, and Brian got in with them.

"Jeordie... Jeordie?" he heard his friend moan, and he grimaced. His legs couldn't take him fast enough, but he could see how terrified his friend looked sitting in that van. He was shivering, a mess of pale, cold sweat-soaked arms and legs, and Jeordie felt a stab of panic as the van door began to close.

"Wait!"

They pulled away, and Jeordie watched them go, useless.

Brian stared at the van door, feeling it rock with the motion of driving away.

"Where the hell are we going?" he muttered.

"Funny you should mention hell," Trent smiled through the rearview mirror, "You are a sharp one, Mr. Manson."

Somehow, Jeordie managed to get home by hitchhiking with some local college kids who thankfully just assumed he was coming from one house party and going to another, so they didn't try to talk to him. The experience of losing Brian like that had sobered him up almost fully by now, and the effects of the alcohol had long since worn off. At least all the coke was keeping him alert.

He got into his dark house, and found a note that his parents had fucked off to visit his uncle for the weekend.

_Jeordie hon--_

_We're visiting Uncle Andy in Orlando. Sorry we didn't wait for you but we assumed you'd say you had the flu again to avoid going. The water filter is in the fridge with some meals I prepared for the next three days. Give my love to Brian! We're going golfing with his parents next month, be an angel and ask him to confirm the date with them if you would, I want to have my skort dry cleaned before then._

_PS, I don't want you inviting that college drummer over while we're gone. He's strange, honey._

_\- love, mom._

Good. No distractions and unnecessary explanations-- Jeordie was one drunken stupor away from his parents shipping him off to military school. Or rehab.

Rereading the note his parents left, he had to laugh. If they thought Ginger was the weird one of the band... well, they'd actually be right, come to think of it. The guy was into Chinese bloodletting.

Crumpling up the note, he tossed it down the garberator, and dug around in the fridge until he found the week old drive thru fries he had stolen last week. He had to think of a plan of action.

Brian's head hit the window as the tour van went over a bump. He was at full attention, trying to think of ways he could escape through a moving vehicle. Just as he was about to make a move for the door, Trent swerved the van, and Brian hit his head again.

"Hey. This'll be just like your little... Necronomicon experience," he smiled, and that's when Brian really started to panic.

The van pulled up at an old abandoned house-- obviously not the afterparty Bri was imagining-- and they moved him out.

"You know, I could take all of you," he told them, "I'm much taller than you all, and I may look scrawny, but I can beat the shit out of losers like you."

Trent smirked, and took out an ancient-looking book, reciting some words. He glanced up.

"If you had the chance, wouldn't you do anything to make the Spooky Kids famous?"

Before he even had the chance to respond, the drummer nicked Brian's finger, blood dripping down and glinting in the moonlight. He read from the book.

"Prick your finger, it is done. The moon has now eclipsed the sun. The Angel has spread his wings. The time has come for bitter things." The rest of the band repeated it.

"I will fucking pound your skull in, all you assholes!" Brian shouted, struggling against their hold. They just laughed.

"Something can be worked out, Marilyn. You can get a little taste of our fame, once our label gets big." Trent continued. "The time has come, it is quiet clear..." They all joined hands around Brian, who suddenly felt a wave of nausea. He dropped to his knees, as his hands began to go cold. "Your antichrist is almost here."

Shoving five more soggy fries into his mouth, Jeordie took out his phone and dialed.

_Four rings. Five rings. Six rings._

"Pick up, Pogo, you son of a--"

"Yeah."

Jeordie nearly shit himself. "You!"

Pogo blinked on the other line. "Me! What the fuck is it, man? I'm with the boys, we're watching Beverly Hills Cop. Left detention early, cause screw it. John's upstairs fucking Rita. YEAH YOU ARE, I CAN HEAR YOU! Hey, you guys should come ov--"

"PogoyouassholewewentouttoaconcertanditwasreallyloudandfunbutwedidcokeandnowBrianisgoneandprobablygettingrippedapartbythethreeheadeddogsofhellandit'sallmyfault."

A long silence, accompanied by a bong rip. "Brian's getting his asshole ripped apart by the dogs of hell and you're doing coke at a concert? Why the hell are you on the phone with me then?"

"NOTHAT'SNOTWHATISAID!"

"...Run it again, only slow it down by 300."

"I'm worried about Brian, Pogo!"

"Ahhh, Bri's fine. You know him. You'll probably hear from him in two hours, tops, asking you for bail money."

"No, you don't understand, Stephen! He got into the van of this weird rock band, and this guy named Trent started telling Brian all this stuff about black magic and the devil--"

"What, Brian got into a van with a bunch of metalheads? Dude, he's probably letting them take turns sucking his dick or something! The American dream, man!"

Jeordie buried the flash of jealousy he got from that. Pogo was right... that did sound like something Bri would do. But it just didn't feel right.

"No, it wasn't like that. He was abducted!" The line was quiet for so long that Jeordie thought Pogo hung up. "Dipshit!"

"I'll get the guys off the couch. John's dad is out of town, so we can use his family's shit-mobile to look for Bri. Kenny can be our designated driver, cause... we're all pretty fuckin' wasted right now." He was quiet for a few more seconds. "They can't have gone too far, Jeord. We'll find him."

Jeordie let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Alright. Keep me updated."

"Yeah."

Jeordie hung up, and nearly jumped out of his already-thin skin when he heard a bang and a crash upstairs. "Mom?" he called softly, voice cracking. No answer. He swallowed, everything freaking him out. He was paranoid, and anxious, and halfway to depressed because he was coming down hard off the drugs. Jesus, now Ghostface was probably in his house. What were the rules of horror movies?! You can never have sex, drink, or do drugs. Well, two of the three boxes had unfortunately been checked, so now, Jeordie was going to die.

He finally made it to the top step, and swallowed some more until his throat had gone cotton dry. He picked up a vase, and held it up as a shield/weapon/defense mechanism. He slowly opened the door to his bedroom. It creaked, and all he heard in his head was the Exorcist theme. All that came crashing down with the vase in his hands as he saw Brian on his knees, on top of Jeordie's bed.

"Oh my god. Oh my god-- you're..." Jeordie rushed over, and balked. He looked like shit. His chest had been cut up by god knows what, he was bleeding all over, his lipstick was smeared, his right eye was hemorrhaged, and his... eyebrows had disappeared? "What..." Jeordie breathed, gulping for air, "What's... where... your... you... where are your... eyebrows?"

"Jeordie. Did you miss me?" Brian smirked, as if he didn't look like a fresh corpse sitting on his best friend's Darth Vader bedsheets.

"I... of course! I just organized a search party for you, we're... god, Brian, are you okay?"

"Marilyn."

"What?!"

"My name's Marilyn."

Jeordie let out a noise. "Yeah, okay, whatever. We can do that. Just tell me you're okay, Mar!"

"Of course I'm okay. Look at me..." He dug his fingers into a hole that had been ripped in his stockings, ripping it up to his thigh. "Have I ever looked better?"

Jeordie was about to tell him he looked like he hadn't slept in a month, his eyebrows had somehow been shaved off in the span of three hours, and he had strange cuts and bruises all over his chest, so yeah, he'd looked better. But there was something dark in his eyes that Jeordie liked.

"C'mon Jeord... I've known you since we were kids. I know you want me."

"That's..." Jeordie let out a forced giggle. "That's not... did Pogo tell you that?"

"Fuck Pogo," he crawled over on his knees, then a playful smile crept up his face. "Actually... fuck me."

Jeordie felt something twist inside of him. He'd always dreamed of what that would sound like coming out of his friend's mouth. But then, his mind took over.

"This is about Trent," Jeordie crossed his arms, "Isn't it? You wanted to fuck him, somehow, and I really don't know how this happened, but he said no, and now you're horny and need someone to get off with."

"If all I wanted was a hole, I'd have every single slut in school to call." He crawled forward on his knees, putting his hands on Jeordie's hips. Jeordie jerked under the touch. "Come on. I was there when you used to get wet dreams about me at sleepovers." Heat rose to the other boy's cheeks. "I'd pretend I didn't hear anything, but I heard you calling my name. I heard all the filthy fucking things you wanted me to do to you, I heard how badly you wanted me to--"

"Stop!" Finally, the fever burning Jeordie up reached boiling point. He held a shaky hand out. "Yes... okay? I did... do, want you. But not like this. You've got something... in you."

"I don't at the moment, but I'd like to."

"Mar--"

"Wanna feel my cock, Twiggy? Feel how hard it is?"

Jeordie tried not to look. He really did. But now his friend was rubbing himself, and he couldn't keep his eyes away any longer.

"Mar. What happened to you out there?"

Brian reached forward, and tugged Jeordie onto the bed with inhuman strength. "Nothing compared to what's gonna happen to you in here." Jeordie swallowed, the fear turning him on, and he couldn't resist pressing his lips to Marilyn's. It's all he ever wanted to do. He instantly felt his friend's tongue slip into his mouth, and he tasted bitter. He flipped Jeordie over, keeping one hand in Jeordie's hair to pin him against the pillow. The other hand reached down to the floor, grabbing a shard of broken vase and lifting it. Jeordie squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if this was the moment he would finally bite it... but he didn't get stabbed. He opened his eyes to see Brian slicing a deep cut into his chest, just above his left nipple. The blood fell in drops on Jeordie's chest, and the boy gasped. The blood was burning hot.

As Jeordie watched in fascinated hunger, Brian dipped his fingers into the blood dripping down his torso, painting his lips with it and sticking his fingers down his throat. Jeordie must have made a noise, since Brian smirked, pulling his fingers out and smearing the blood down his friend's chest.

"You like that, little slut?" He watched Jeordie's chest heaved. "You're a whore for me, aren't you Jeordie? You've always been a whore for me."

"Yes..."

"Say it."

"I'm your whore! Ah, fuck! What's gotten into you?"

"I figured it was time to quit dodging what we both wanted," Marilyn smirked. "And yeah, Jeordie. I wanted it bad too. I wanted to feel... what this ass was like from the inside."

"Oh." If his friend kept talking like that, Jeordie was going to cum fast. Marilyn reached down, using the blood gushing from his chest to lube his fingers up. Then he reached down, scissoring his way into Jeordie.

_Oh. Oh..._ This was better than his own fingers. This was so, so much better.

Marilyn lubed himself up using more fresh blood, and Jeordie let out a loud moan as his friend pushed into him. Giving him a few seconds to adjust, Marilyn pressed open mouthed kisses down Jeordie's chest, then fucked in hard, setting a brutal pace with his fingers digging into Jeordie's hipbones.

Jeordie clutched at his bed posts for purchase. It finally hit him that he was losing his virginity... to weird, pseudo-demonic Brian. What HAD gotten into him?

All he knew was he was currently getting dicked down better than he could ever imagine, and he was about to blow.

"Bri... M-Mar... I'm..." he tried to stutter, but his eyes rolled back, and he came white hot across his chest, some shooting up to his chin. The look Marilyn gave him was one of pure desire, as he leaned down and licked all the way up his chest to his face. Then Marilyn moaned, holding Jeordie's neck, and his hips stalled. A few moments later, he pulled out, and sat back, a smug smirk on his lips as he licked the blood and cum off his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, seeing stars.

Marilyn gave him a dirty look. "Don't fucking say his name."

Jeordie blinked. None of this made sense, and he couldn't just lay next to his friend in bed, having just been fucked by him, if he didn't know why he looked like the (sexy) living dead.

"Brian. Please. Where did Trent take you... and what did he do?"

Then Jeordie paled. Marilyn got up, and began to lift off the ground a few feet. He grinned, blinking to reveal a flash of white in his eyes.

"Let's just say, I have no doubt we'll make it big, Jeords. We've got lower powers on our side now."

Great. He had just lost his virginity to his best friend... Earth’s new antichrist.


End file.
